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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28905576">An Assassin's Guide to Not Falling in Love</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghouls_buddy/pseuds/ghouls_buddy'>ghouls_buddy</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Potential Fics [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Bad Samaritan (2018)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>At least my attempt at writing one and it's pretty brief, F/M, Panic Attack, Reader-Insert, The reader is an assassin but doesn't like it</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 10:53:44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,061</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28905576</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghouls_buddy/pseuds/ghouls_buddy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>When your brother is kidnapped, can you do the one thing required to rescue him?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sean Falco/Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Potential Fics [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2116680</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>An Assassin's Guide to Not Falling in Love</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Another first chapter for a fic idea. I'm actually really happy with how this one turned out.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>You had always found summer to be the best time to complete a job, not only for the fact that it allowed you to hide your face behind a pair of sunglasses, but also the freedom to sit around and do nothing without looking odd. In winter, everyone moved too quickly, trying to keep warm, but in summer, crowds were much more relaxed, and you could sit in this park for hours without anyone batting an eye. You flip the page of the book you were holding, not actually reading it, your eyes on the building your target had just walked into.</p>
<p>---</p>
<p>
  <em>“Have you seen your brother?” Your mom asks, and you can tell by the quiver in her voice that she was scared, could already picture her biting her nails, a nervous habit that she had passed down to you. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“I’m sure he’s fine, he always does this, he’s probably just found a girl and gotten distracted.” You tell her, keeping your voice as even as you can. She had always been able to tell when you were lying. You shakily lift up the photo you had found sat in the bottom of your post-box. The picture, a police mugshot, was of a man with thick curly hair, a smug look written across his face. The information in the bottom corner places him to be 31 years old and provides you with a name: Sean Falco. This is more information than you usually receive. Well, used to receive anyway, before you had paid back what you owed. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“But he’s still seeing Daisy and I’ve already spoken to her; she hasn’t seen him.” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“When has that ever stopped him though?” It never had before, but the last five months with Daisy had been different, and for the first time you had believed your older brother when he said that he was in love. You just had to hope that your mom was still holding onto the doubt that she had expressed then. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“I don’t know, y/n. Something feels off.” Something definitely was off, but you couldn’t tell her this. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Everything will be fine, he’ll show up, he always does. I’ll let you know if I hear anything, okay? Love you.” You hang up, dropping the mobile into your lap. Flipping over the picture, you reread the messy scrawl on the back, three words that replaced the digits that you were used to finding there; for your brother. </em>
</p>
<p>---</p>
<p>You see him walk out of the building and you stand, dropping the book into your bag. You walk quickly enough to catch up to him, making sure to stay far enough back that he wouldn’t notice you following him, so that no by passers would assume that you were together. Just two people who happen to be going the same way. You weren’t planning on completing the job today, it was too obvious, too public. Today was just a way to find out what kind of person he is so that you could work out the best plan of action, something that wouldn’t cause much suspicion. In the two years you had worked as an assassin, a word you hated but was really the only way to describe it, you had made a name for yourself through your ability to make it appear as an accident. You assumed that’s why you had been given this job now; whoever wanted Sean Falco dead wanted it done quickly and without suspicion. But you were supposed to be done with all of it.</p>
<p>---</p>
<p>
  <em>You sit on the bench, placing the book between you and the man sat on the other side, the photo of Sean placed on top. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“I’m finished with all this.” You say, though you don’t look at him. Instead you watch the people as they walk past, eyes drawn to a woman trying to calm down the screaming toddler by her side. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“They asked for you specifically. We were threatened, we had no choice.” He answers, taking a bite from the sandwich in his hand. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Where is he?” </em>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>“We don’t have your brother. We said that’s not how we work, but they did it anyway. All we did was give them your name.” Hearing this, you clench your fists, your nails digging into your palms, your teeth sinking into your tongue, you couldn’t afford to cause a scene right now. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“That’s against the contract.” You say through gritted teeth.  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Your contract ended.” That wasn’t fair, you thought. The contract offered full protection, including anonymity. You had assumed this meant a lifetime, and now you felt like a fool. Of course it didn’t, they didn’t care as long as they got their money. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“We really tried, there was honestly nothing we could do. Whoever this is, they are powerful.” He told you, but it didn’t make you feel any less angry. You had heard enough. Grabbing the picture and book, you stood, walking back the way you had come, holding back the tears threatening to fall due to the overwhelming mixture of fear and frustration. </em>
</p>
<p>---</p>
<p>Sean had entered the bar at the furthest end of town, and you debated whether to follow him in or find somewhere to sit and wait but figuring he would likely be in there for some time, you walked in after him. Scanning the room, you realised how out of place you looked amongst the crowd of early afternoon drunks, and you quickly slipped into a booth that allowed you to stay mostly hidden but still have a clear sight of Sean’s position at the bar. He didn’t strike you as the type of person to get drunk at 2pm, but you can never judge a book by its cover, and that was what today was all about. For the first time since you had found the photo, you felt a small amount of optimism about this job. A drunken accident was easy to set up.</p>
<p>“Can I buy you a drink?” Your eyeline was blocked by the man who had just spoken to you. He leant against your table, either trying to look suave or to stop himself from swaying and failing at both.</p>
<p>“No thanks.” You reply, smiling at him politely.</p>
<p>“Are you sure?” He slurred, his arm sliding further across the table so that he was leaning closer to you. You could smell the beer on his breath, could see the dried mustard on his mouth.</p>
<p>“I’m sure.” You tell him, sliding out of the booth to get away from him, praying he wouldn’t follow. As you stand, you look over to wear Sean had been sat, finding him gone.</p>
<p><em>“Shit.” </em>You thought, subtly searching the room as you reached the bar, but unable to see him. He couldn’t have left, the door hadn’t been opened, so he must’ve gone to the bathroom. Ordering a vodka and coke, of which you had no intention of actually drinking, you find an empty seat near a window. From this seat you were able to see almost the entire pub, but you still couldn’t see the man you were here for. You pull out your book, opening it to the page bookmarked by Sean’s photo, reading the small notes you had made between the lines of the story. Pulling out a pen, you write one word at the top of the page: alcoholic?</p>
<p>The sound of a camera shutter startles you. Turning in the direction the sound came from, you see the face you had been searching for, which would’ve made you feel much better if said face, and his camera, weren’t facing you. You slammed the book shut, hiding the picture of him, and you hoped he hadn’t seen it. The shutter went off again, Sean lowering the camera from his face to exam the photos he had just taken.</p>
<p>“Did you just take a picture of me?” You ask, panic settling in your stomach. He looks up to you, a light blush spreading across his cheeks.</p>
<p>“Erm, yeah.” He admits stepping closer to you, holding out the camera for you to see the screen. The sun was streaming through the window next to you, lighting up the side of your face, its reflection on the green lampshade hitting your other side. A strand of hair had fallen over your eye, a small frown tugging at your lips as you concentrated on the book in your hands. It was a lovely picture, but it could also be damning evidence, showing that you had met on what you had planned to be the last day he was seen alive.</p>
<p>“I’m doing some shots for the pub’s website, and you just looked, well, it just.” He stuttered, struggling to find the right way to explain why taking photos of a random stranger wasn’t creepy. “I like capturing beautiful things.” He said, bringing the camera back towards him, looking back down at the screen rather than at you. It was cheesy, and usually you felt the urge to punch any man who tried to use a cheesy pick-up line on you, but the way he had said it, so shy and embarrassed, it didn’t come across as though he was trying to pick you up. It seemed as though he genuinely meant it, the idea causing a flutter in your stomach.</p>
<p>“You need to delete them.” His face drops as you say it, and you instantly feel bad when he looks up at you.</p>
<p>“I can send them to you first, if you want.” He suggests, but traceable communication is even worse.</p>
<p>“No, please just delete them.” He reluctantly nods, disappointment clear on his face as he begins pressing buttons on the camera, turning to show you that they were gone.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry.” He says, before leaving to take more photos of the pubs interior. You quickly get up to leave, making sure you pick up the book as you go. Swinging open the pub door, you take in a deep breath, the summer afternoon heat dampening the desired impact of being hit by the fresh air. You begin walking away from the pub, not focused on where you were going, just needing to be away from it, away from him. Only twice before had you spoken to a target, both moments before their deaths, both etching themselves into your memories, haunting you all these months later. It’s easy to convince yourself it was an accident when you only set up the scene, but it’s hard to ignore the truth when you’re right in the middle of it, when they realise what’s about to happen, when they beg you to help, and you just stand there and let it happen, aware that it’s only happening because of you.</p>
<p>Your steps quicken, matching the rapid heartbeat pounding in your ears, your eyes blurred as the tears start to roll down your cheeks. You didn’t realise you’d even stepped off the sidewalk until a pair of arms wrap around your waist, dragging you back, a rush of air and a loud horn hurtling past you.</p>
<p>“Are you okay?” You barely hear the question, but you feel his hands on your shoulders, twisting you to look at him, see the dark green eyes staring into yours, wide with panic. All you can do is stare back, and then slowly nod as the rest of the world comes back into focus.</p>
<p>“I am so sorry; I didn’t mean to upset you.” You realise who it is stood in front of you, who just saved your life. “God, if you had died, it would’ve been my fault.” Sean says, pushing his hair back off of his face, taking in a shaky breath. The irony of the statement hits you at full force, snapping the final thread that had been keeping you together, and you break. All the air rushes out of your lungs, and no matter how much you breath in, it feels like there is no air left in the world.</p>
<p>“Hey, hey, it’s okay!” Sean softly utters, bringing his arms around you and pulling you against his chest. “You’re okay.” He tells you, holding you against him as he runs a hand along your back.</p>
<p>Stood in the middle of the sidewalk, wrapped in his arms as you cried into his shirt, you realised you couldn’t do it; you couldn’t harm this man.</p>
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